#SGT simian | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vendettaspathfanfic · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter Nine

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter is where the more full-on action gore begins. It also contains mentions (not depictions or descriptions) of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

As previously mentioned, Moebius found itself in the throes of an environmental crisis. Despite the lack of government support for initiatives to address the crisis, various efforts were being made. One prominent player in these efforts was BioSphere Reclamation Inc., a widely recognized private company. Individuals utilizing their services could opt to pay a one-time or monthly fee, with the funds allocated to projects aimed at cleaning up selected neighborhoods in various cities. Typically, affluent neighborhoods received more attention compared to lower-income areas.

Upon accumulating sufficient funds for a specific location, BioSphere would dispatch teams of cleaners to tackle issues such as litter, graffiti, and general uncleanliness, while also nurturing green spaces within the area.

While such companies tended to benefit the affluent more than others, there were more charitable alternatives available. Dr. Kintobor’s SWEEPbot service, for instance, operated on a non-profit, cost-effective model, albeit facing significant challenges in the battle to preserve a deteriorating planet. Nonetheless, Dr. Kintobor’s efforts played a pivotal role in establishing natural reserves like the Moebian Grand Forest.

Surrounded by a scarcity of thriving nature, McKenna often found herself pondering the potential location of a place she faintly remembered, a place teeming with lush greenery and beauty. However, her recollection of the time before she was adopted was shrouded in a dense fog, impervious to restoration despite her adopted mother's earnest attempts.

That’s what her mother told her anyways.

Over the span of the last decade, Dr. Versipelle had been her mother, providing her sustenance, conducting lab tests, dressing her, subjecting her to body modifications, empowering her, sequestering her, showing her affection, and terrifying her. Following a disturbing incident where McKenna was ordered to taste the blood of a dead man and experience the echoes of his tragic demise through the residual energy in the sample, Her mother tenderly tucked her into bed and recited poetry to soothe her. After undergoing unwelcome surgeries that involved the modification or replacement of various parts of her body, McKenna would be beautifully serenaded on the piano. And following instances where she pushed her magical abilities to their limits, causing her nerves to feel as though they were ablaze, Dr. Versipelle would join her for tea in the greenhouse.

Now, McKenna found herself alone in the greenhouse, awaiting to be called in for a forthcoming surgery intended to adjust her brain and replace her eyes once more, enabling her to perceive visions with utmost clarity. Despite her disappointment about this—having been assured last year that her third-eye abilities had reached their peak—her mother explained that a new threat had emerged, compelling them to leave no stone unturned in service of the Suppression Squad and the greater good, a mission that encompassed both of their fates.

She reproached herself for her surprise at the revelation. As her mother often emphasized, the realm of science and technology was in a perpetual state of advancement. If it were true that progress knew no bounds as aforementioned, there would always be opportunities for further modifications, experiments, training, and pain.

Yet in that moment, all McKenna yearned for was to immerse herself in nature, even if it only manifested within the confines of a softly illuminated greenhouse. From the earthy soil to the delicate petals, the environment felt like a sanctuary to her—a place that resonated with a sense of belonging. Her thoughts drifted to the forest of her distant recollections, envisioning the sensation of grass beneath her feet, the gentle rustle of wind through the trees, and the harmonious melody of a flowing river. She held onto the determination that one day, she would somehow relive these mysterious yet beautiful memories.

Sitting on the edge of a concrete planter box brimming with a bed of roses, McKenna delicately inserted her finger into the soil. With closed eyes, she concentrated intently and took a deep breath, causing her finger to emit a soft glow beneath the dirt, illuminating the surrounding soil. Upon withdrawing her finger, a small yet beautiful daisy bloomed within the spot that had shimmered moments before.

"Hello, little friend," McKenna murmured tenderly, stepping down from the planter box and kneeling in front of the freshly sprouted daisy, viewing it at eye level. "I know you're amidst roses instead of daisies, but there are no daisy beds here. The roses are quite lovely too, however," she remarked softly, extending her hand to caress the velvety petal of one of the roses.

"McKenna, to whom were you speaking?"

Startled, McKenna swiftly turned towards her mother and rose to her feet with her eyes widened. "Nobody, mother," she replied meekly.

"You act as though you've been caught in a transgression," Stellaria remarked slowly, approaching her daughter with a scrutinizing gaze, her hands concealed behind her back.

"I was just looking at the flowers..." McKenna stammered, her fingers twiddling nervously while her arms remained rigidly at her sides.

"Maintain eye contact," Stellaria commanded sharply, causing McKenna to swiftly meet her mother's gaze, which was swiftly followed by a pleased smile before Stellaria redirected her attention to the flowers. "Did you plant that daisy there?"

Aware that she couldn't deceive her mother, given Stellaria's unparalleled understanding of psychology and ability to detect when someone lies; McKenna hesitated before responding, her trembling fingers betraying her nerves. "The gardeners still haven't planted the daisies that you requested for me, mother. It's just a small one," she explained.

"It's an eyesore. It doesn't belong there," Stellaria remarked icily, pointing at the flower. "Pluck it."

With a crestfallen expression, McKenna knelt down slowly and plucked the daisy from the flower bed. She knew she could preserve it in a glass of water for a brief period, but the little daisy would be deprived of the company of other flowers. Despite the dissimilarities between the daisy and the surrounding flowers, McKenna couldn't help but feel a sense of remorse that the lone flower couldn't flourish within a populous garden setting.

"I would have preferred a more mature attitude from you, McKenna," Stellaria remarked, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her daughter with a stern gaze. "You do trust my judgment over a silly flower, don't you?"

"Of course, mother," McKenna replied softly, shaping her expression into a neutral mask.

"Good. It's time for your surgery. Follow me," Stellaria announced, turning on her heel and gesturing for McKenna to accompany her.

"Mother..." McKenna began tentatively, her voice trembling as she sought to decipher her mother's inscrutable expression. "I've been thinking... perhaps if I focused on meditation more, I could enhance my ability to see visions clearly without undergoing surgery."

Glaring at McKenna with icy contempt, Stellaria crossed her arms. "Let me pose a question to you, McKenna. Do you believe that any of my actions are motivated by malice towards you?"

Taken aback, McKenna gasped, raising her hands defensively and shaking her head quickly. "No! I was just—"

"Do you think I act impulsively? How little faith do you have in me, really? Every decision I make is the culmination of generations of research and my unwavering love for you. What causes you to doubt my reasoning, McKenna?" Stellaria hissed, looming over McKenna with a look of disdain.

"Nothing, mother!" McKenna protested, tears welling up in her eyes as she bowed her head in shame.

"Nothing makes you doubt me?" Stellaria growled, seizing McKenna's chin to force her to meet her gaze.

"No! I trust you! I swear! I just didn't want to endure more pain!" McKenna whimpered, her tearful eyes pleading with her mother's intense blood-orange gaze.

"Well," Stellaria remarked, releasing her grip on McKenna's chin, "I take no pleasure in your suffering, but time is of the essence, and we require unwavering precision when it comes to your abilities. On that note, your other cybernetics will be undergoing upgrades. But, you know I always strive to minimize your discomfort and ensure a swift recovery."

"Of course, mother..." McKenna whimpered as she struggled to maintain a facade of composure.

With a warm smile, Stellaria tenderly caressed McKenna's cheek. "Let's put this little tiff behind us. You're a smart girl, and I trust you realize that my intentions are always guided by what I believe is best for you."

"I do, mother. I apologize for offending you," McKenna replied softly, leaning into her mother's gentle touch.

"I forgive you, my dear. Now, let's proceed," Stellaria said, taking McKenna's hand and guiding her to the medical bay to prepare for the upcoming surgery.

Obediently, she decontaminated herself, underwent the pre-operative testing, and resigned herself to yet another in a long series of medical procedures. What could she have done otherwise? Each time she attempted to assert herself, her mother would effortlessly counter her arguments. Every tear she shed only seemed to elicit further disapproval. Progress seemed futile as for every step forward she took, she found herself stumbling two steps back.

Her existence felt like it was predetermined, with her own identity beyond her control.

Upon waking, she found herself back in her room, her body engulfed in a searing sensation despite the effects of the painkillers she had been given, a recurring postoperative discomfort she had grown accustomed to. She knew that with her mother's advanced technology and her own modified flesh, any visible traces of the surgery would soon fade, but she knew this wouldn’t be her last procedure and the vicious cycle would repeat itself.

Forevermore.

As she glanced to her side, she noticed a vial of pills, her water bottle, and a bouquet of daisies in a crystal vase left by her mother, accompanied by a note expressing her good wishes.

Unable to do much more than endure the agony in her bed, McKenna closed her eyes and wept silently.

McKenna's experience, although extreme, was not unique in the realm of those who endured suffering to win a parent's approval. Years ago, a young boy who once called himself Sonic found himself thrust into the role of the caretaker for his family. Following the loss of his father's position at the Royal Court, they were forced to sell their opulent home and lay off the household staff that accompanied it. At just eleven years old, Sonic found himself responsible for cleaning their much more modest lower class home, preparing meals for himself and his parents, and tending to the needs of the new baby.

On a particularly challenging day, he returned home from the grocery store, pushing the stroller that had once been his own through the doorway with one hand and clutching bags of groceries with the other. The journey had been grueling, as Tara incessantly cried despite his best efforts to soothe her, drawing looks of both pity and annoyance from passersby and leaving Sonic feeling irritated and ashamed.

"Hey mom," Sonic called out to his mother, who lay on the couch staring blankly at the television, wearing the same loungewear she had worn for days, showing little acknowledgment of his presence. "I got Tara to stop crying. I just walked her around the block for a little while once I was done at the store, and she finally got tired and fell asleep. Maybe come with us next time, and I'll show you?"

Unsurprisingly, she remained silent, blinking slowly as she paid scant attention to another news report on the failing economy.

"Let's watch something else," Scourge suggested. "I gotta put this stuff up first."

After stowing away the groceries, he tenderly settled Tara in the bassinet, shushing her gently as she began to fuss, letting out a sigh of relief as he gently coaxed her back to sleep.

"Let's check if that one funny cooking show's on," Sonic enthusiastically suggested, settling down on the couch next to his mother, deftly flicking through the channels. As he scanned for the familiar program, he stole glances from the corner of his eye, hoping for even the slightest reaction from her. His brow furrowed with concern, his focus shifting back to the screen, his thumb rapidly tapping the remote in a desperate quest to find the show that once brought them shared laughter in years past.

For nearly a year now, beginning when his mother discovered she was pregnant again, she had gradually let go of self-care, her smiles, her words, and seemed perpetually fatigued. Following their moving and her subsequently giving birth, her well-being deteriorated further, withdrawing into a state of near-perpetual recline in the living room, seldom rising except for a few essential tasks.

He knew she was sick. While she didn’t cough, vomit, or faint, she had become a mere shell of the mother who loved and held him. It was as though something parasitic lurked within her mind, sapping away the warmth and vitality that once radiated from her. Thus, she was trapped in a shattered state in which she didn’t have the strength to tell her own son she loved him.

His father's absence only compounded the family's struggles. When he was actually present, the only signs of him being in the house were the lingering scent of rum and muffled heated phone conversations about his latest financial misstep in the stock market coming from the master bedroom.

Despite the overwhelming weight of responsibility and the heaviness of his heart, Sonic continued to navigate the challenges of their strained household with a sense of unwavering determination. Each day, he carried the burden of caring for his baby sister and tending to his ailing mother, silently vowing to someday bring back the light in her eyes and hear her express pride and affection once more.

Alas, that day never arrived.

As Scourge sat on the hood of his newly-altered car in the litter-filled alley beside the orphanage, he felt as if he had just awoken from a nap; a long-expired cigarette dangling between his lips. How long had he been lost in this haze of dissociation? More importantly, why was he wasting time ruminating on the past again? It wouldn’t fix anything that happened or change who he was. Shaking off the memories that threatened to pull him deeper, he swapped the spent cigarette for a fresh one and fished his phone from his pocket, eager to blast some music to cleanse his mind of the clutter.

“Can I have one?”

His ears pinned back in irritation as Toxic’s voice sliced through the stillness of the alley.

“If you can get your own,” he sneered, casting her a glance filled with distaste as she peeked out from the front of the building. “Hang on, what’s on your face?”

“Face mask.”

“Where from?” he asked, holding the cigarette between his lips, smoke curling from his mouth with every breath he took.

“Simon.”

“Why’d he get you a mask?” He leaned forward, curiosity piqued as he shifted his weight on the hood. Simon wasn’t exactly known for being charitable, so the fact that she got a gift from him suggested he’d somehow started to warm up to her.

“So I don’t look like my, uhm, wanting picture, and I can go to places without people staring, and it helps me not pick at my cut and make it redder.” She explained, making her way over to him, grunting slightly as she climbed onto the hood beside him.

“Hey, watch the paint, short stack,” he cautioned, swearing under his breath as he offered her a steady hand to help her up, trying to keep the car's paint job intact.

“I drew on it ‘cause Flying got me markers, and we drew on my shirt, and then we drew on my shoes.” She rambled on, proudly pointing to the crude, jagged teeth sketched in white marker and the chaotic splashes of color covering her shirt and shoes.

“Flying gave you markers, huh?” Scourge replied, raising an eyebrow. “Did he sniff them at all?”

“Yeah, so?” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, that means they’re the permanent kind.” He growled, staring ahead at the setting sun, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. The thought of her potentially ‘decorating’ his beloved jacket with those markers sent a wave of dread through him. “That’s super.”

“Revine had one of those one time,” she continued, “but she kept coughing and told us not to have any.”

“Mhm,” Scourge hummed aloofly, his attention waning.

“We’ll find them, right?” Toxic asked, grabbing his hand, immediately regaining his attention with the sudden, unexpected gesture that almost seemed to resemble… affection.

“Look, we’ll try, ok? No guarantees.” Scourge replied, pulling his hand away to discard his spent cigarette.

Toxic’s hopeful face fell somewhat as he pulled his hand away from hers. She turned her gaze to some graffiti on the wall of the neighboring building. “Revine’s light blue and a big kid hedgehog. Selene and Ren are little just like me, and Selene’s light green. But Ren’s not a hedgehog, he’s a red panda. Ren likes his hat.”

“Okay,” Scourge murmured dismissively, his gaze fixed ahead. Beneath his facade of boredom, he couldn’t stop thinking about what she did. He’d made it clear he expected her to at least mostly behave well, but never in a million years would he have expected her to try and hold his hand. After all, he still had healing wounds on his arms from her biting and scratching him nearly two weeks ago. Even still, he certainly didn’t give her any special treatment that could possibly warrant this.

Right?

Before he could become too lost in thought, his attention was grabbed by the little blue hedgehog sliding off the car with a little grunt and walking in front of him.

“We’re gonna be the king?” she asked, hopping in place eagerly.

“Well, I’m gonna be the king, princess,” Scourge corrected her, a faint wry smile spreading across his face. “But yeah, we’re gonna be royalty. Livin’ in the lap of luxury just like in the movies, kid.”

“Oh,” Toxic replied, her voice fluctuating slightly as she hopped back and forth over a crack in the asphalt. “What’s in a movie?”

“What do you mean?” Scourge asked, raising a brow as he lifted his sunglasses to his forehead.

“What happens in movies?”

“A lot of things can happen. Wait, have you ever watched a movie?” Scourge asked, his eyes widening in disbelief when she shook her head in response. “Shit, imagine that…”

“Can we see movies if we’re, uhm, royally?” She asked, walking closer to him with big, hopeful eyes.

“Well…” Scourge began hesitantly before sighing deeply, “I haven’t seen a movie since before I got locked up, so what the hell? There should be an old drive-in we can sneak into.”

“Are we gonna see a movie now?” Toxic asked with intense excitement, her little blue tail wagging behind her.

“Yeah. Get your butt in the car before I change my mind, kid,” Scourge said, pulling the keys from his jacket and unlocking the vehicle, which Toxic practically flew into with a squeal.

Driving through the bustling city, he glanced over at his sister, whose legs barely dangled over the edge of the passenger seat as she hummed along to a pop song on the radio. Scourge found himself lost in thought, contemplating whether this outing was truly a good idea. While he respected her to a degree and even promised to let her be the princess of Moebius, he was still undeniably annoyed by her. His manners were far from perfect, but she had a knack for picking arguments, talking his ear off, and demanding an endless amount of attention.

Scourge wasn’t above breaking deals with people, especially those he didn’t particularly like. If he put his mind to it, he could send her to live with another family instead of in the castle with him. With enough money and convincing, he could find a decent family for her. For the past couple of days, he’d been wrestling with the idea of living with her. Being only sixteen himself, he didn’t know the first thing about raising a child, let alone one as wild as her.

Toxic might renounce him as her brother for breaking his promise, and he might never see her again. But at least there’d be no uncertainty about her well-being, unlike the years they spent apart. She’d be out of his way, placed with a family instead of being stuck in a shoddy orphanage, receiving care he simply couldn’t provide.

It would be for the best.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as his jaw clenched with tension. Taking a deep nasal breath, he passed the city limits, the familiar skyline fading into the rearview mirror. For the rest of the ride, he remained silent, focused, until they arrived at the ticket booth shrouded in smoke, a strong acrid scent hanging in the air.

“What movie do you want?” asked the worker, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he leaned on the counter, blinking slowly.

“Any action movie,” Scourge replied, extending his arm out the window, cash in hand, toward the cashier, who took it slowly, peering into the dim interior of Scourge’s car.

“Wait… you look familiar,” the worker said, squinting at him with curiosity.

Shit.

Aside from the fact that he wasn't the only green hedgehog on Moebius, Scourge had been fortunate so far to avoid recognition by sticking to lower-class areas where people were more concerned with daily survival than with political figures. That luck couldn’t run out the night before he reclaimed his throne.

“I was in a soup commercial,” Scourge blurted out, internally berating himself for coming up with such a ridiculous lie afterwards

“What—” Toxic began, her face twisting in puzzlement before Scourge shot her a pointed look that silenced her.

With his jaw agape and his eyes half lidded, the employee’s face slowly broke into a crooked, gap-toothed grin.

“Oh, that’s right! Soup guy! That’s probably how you got that badass car!” he exclaimed, nodding with satisfaction.

“Yeah,” Scourge said, his head reeling back in disbelief that this excuse actually worked. “So, what’s the station for the movie?”

“Uh, 98.7,” the worker replied, glancing at a sheet in front of him. “Enjoy the movie, soup guy.”

“You too, stoned guy…” Scourge muttered under his breath as he navigated the crowded parking lot, eyes scanning for a spot where they could settle in to watch the movie.

“What’s a stone guy?” Toxic inquired.

“A guy who smokes so much weed he thinks I did a soup commercial,” Scourge scoffed, his fingers flipping through radio stations.

“Why did you do a soup commercial?” she asked, her hand fidgeting with the window controls, sliding it up and down.

“That’s not a toy. Quit messing with it,” Scourge chided, gently swatting her hand away from the buttons. “I wasn’t in a soup commercial. I said that so he wouldn’t figure out who I really was.”

“Are you, uhm, wanted?” Toxic probed, her feet wiggling as she admired the skulls Flying had drawn on the tips of her sneakers.

“Something like that,” Scourge replied, turning up the radio’s volume, the audio synced with the giant screen in front of them.

Toxic’s eyes were drawn to the screen, pupils widening with fascination as she caught sight of an advertisement featuring dancing cartoon characters.

“The movie!” she exclaimed, standing on the seat and eagerly tapping her finger against the windshield as she pointed at the screen.

“‘Ey,” Scourge snapped, “Sit down, don’t scuff up the leather.”

Groaning theatrically, she extended her ring finger toward him in defiance before flopping back into the seat, her shoulders slumped in exaggerated annoyance.

With a roll of his eyes, Scourge mimicked her groan and held up his own ring finger toward her in return. “Back at ya,” he said smugly. He then reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out some cash. “I’ll be right back with popcorn, ‘kay? Stay in the car and watch the screen.”

As he approached the snack bar, the enchanting aroma of popcorn mingled with the seemingly recurring, pungent scent of marijuana. Along with two popcorns and a couple of Anarcho-Colas, he received yet another curious look from the cashier.

“Wait, where have I seen you?” the young woman asked, her eyes bloodshot and squinting as she leaned in closer.

“Soup commercial,” Scourge answered, not missing a beat.

“Right! Brody texted us about that!” she exclaimed, grinning widely, struggling to keep her eyes open as she turned to her coworker; who was munching on a hot dog without a bun. “Marley, it’s Soup Guy! Just like Brody was talking about.”

“Man, I love soup!” Marley shouted, raising their half-eaten hot dog in a gesture that resembled a toast toward Scourge.

Honestly, Scourge found himself wanting whatever they were clearly indulging in.

“Same,” he replied with a forced smile, quickly gathering his snacks and hurrying back to the car before the conversation could continue any further.

Toxic was so engrossed in the moving pictures on the screen that even the enticing aroma of popcorn didn’t immediately catch her attention.

“Here,” Scourge said, handing one of the bags to her.

“What didja get me?” Toxic asked, peering into the bag with curiosity.

“You’ve never seen popcorn before?” Scourge replied, his cheek already stuffed with the warm, buttery treat, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Nope,” she answered, burying her face in the bag and grabbing a mouthful. Her eyes widened with amazement as she savored the taste.

“Good stuff, right?” Scourge asked, barely hiding a smile as he watched her devour the popcorn with animalistic abandon.

“Yah, ah like ih,” Toxic mumbled through her mouthful, bits of popcorn flying out with each word.

“Don’t spit popcorn all over my car, kid,” Scourge warned, taking a sip of his soda. “Movie’s about to start,” he noted as the previews came to an end. “Be quiet or we leave.”

“Why?” Toxic whispered, her voice filled with curiosity.

“That’s the rule, now shut up and watch,” he whispered, settling back into his seat as the film began.

The movie wasn’t anything spectacular. The acting was mediocre at best, and the plot was half-baked. Under normal circumstances, Scourge would say the only redeeming quality was the presence of the actress he’d had a crush on for years. However, after spending several torturous months in Zone Jail, struggling to avoid beatings, he hadn’t had the luxury to focus on whatever played on the few tiny, grainy television screens available there.

Every single day since escaping, he often had to remind himself he was safe. The bump in the night wasn’t an inmate coming to throw him around the cell like a ragdoll. He no longer had to rush through meals to prevent them from being stolen or having his face shoved in them. He didn’t have to sit on the edge of his seat, ready to flee unwanted attention. Gone were the days of the inhibitor collars, and he was finally ready to reclaim his world.

This was his first movie in a long time, and he was finally safe enough to watch it. That was enough for him to love it.

Watching his little sister giggling with delight during a particularly audacious motorcycle stunt, he was taken aback by how much he didn’t mind her presence at that moment. Her excitement reminded him of a young, once-blue hedgehog he once knew, staying up late to watch his favorite films. The nostalgia was palpable, and her enthusiasm was unexpectedly contagious. To his own surprise, he found himself whispering comments about the movie to her, chuckling at her responses, and engaging in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Not only was she not a burden, but she was genuinely enjoyable to be around.

In the film’s climax, things seemed bleak for the protagonist. Bloody and beaten, he stared down the barrel of his enemy’s gun, with death looming ominously on the horizon.

Toxic furrowed her brows in worry, her voice barely above a whisper as she chewed on the last of her popcorn. “Are they gonna die?”

“Just watch,” Scourge whispered back, a half-grin forming as he correctly anticipated the moment when the hero would rise and take down the enemy with a clever line.

Pumping her fist in the air, Toxic couldn’t contain her excitement. “Yes!”

“Legends like that don’t just die like chumps, kid,” Scourge added, his grin widening at her reaction. “Golden rule of, like, every movie.”

“He’s fucking cool ass!” she exclaimed, a soft, excited giggle escaping her as the credits soon began to roll. She reached for more of her popcorn, only to realize her bag was empty. “Gimme yours,” she demanded, her eyes darting to his unfinished bag.

With a shake of his head, Scourge dug his hand into his popcorn, nonchalantly swatting away Toxic as she desperately clawed for the bag.

“Stop, bitch!” she groaned in protest.

“Nah,” Scourge replied, chewing on a mouthful with a satisfied smirk.

“Yes!” she growled, trying to crawl over him as he pushed his hand against her forehead, leaving her scrambling in place.

“Mmm, this is mine. I love my popcorn.” He teased, savoring the last few pieces before finally releasing her, “Take my bag, short-stack.”

“Cuntsack!” Toxic shot back, slamming her fist on the seat in frustration.

“That doesn’t mean anything, you dip,” Scourge scoffed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, it does!” she argued, crossing her arms defiantly.

“It doesn’t, idiot. Time to go.” He said, shifting the car into gear as the lights of the parking lot flickered around them.

"I wanna see more movies," she said with a defiant pout as he slowly backed their car out of the parking spot, the engine purring to life.

"We're going to the castle tomorrow," he reminded her. "Don't wanna stay out all night and be too tired for that."

"But we can watch movies at the castle with popcorn and soda, right?" she asked, her fingers fiddling with the straps of a face mask she had just pulled from her pocket, her voice carrying a hopeful lilt.

"That and more," he assured her, a smile tugging at his lips. "But first, we gotta work for it. Just like in that movie, we gotta kick some major ass before we get ours on the throne."

"Are we gonna break windows and shoot people like in the movies?" she continued, her green eyes wide with a mix of excitement and innocence.

The green hedgehog chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Something like that, for sure," he replied to his sister, before groaning as a chime sounded from the dashboard, signaling that the car was running low on gas.

"What is it, Scourge?" Toxic asked, tilting her head with curiosity, her gaze shifting between him and the fuel gauge.

"We need gas. Might as well pick up more cigarettes while we're at it," Scourge grumbled, his eyes scanning the dank, desolate streets as they rolled past, searching for a gas station.

"I want a cigarette," she proclaimed.

"I know. You want everything," he muttered under his breath, steering the car into a dingy gas station and parking by one of the pumps. "Stay here, okay?" he ordered, stepping out of the car.

After filling up the tank, Scourge made his way into the grimy little convenience store. The smell of stale grease and sweat hit him like a wave, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he spotted a rat nibbling on a slice of pizza that had been left on display. Shaking his head, he turned toward the counter, ready to ask the cashier for a pack of cigarettes.

Before he could open his mouth, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around with surprising force.

"I know you, fucker," a cheetah snarled in a low, menacing growl, his clothes adorned with photoluminescent accents that glowed under the dim fluorescent lights, his flashy sunglasses obscuring most of his face but not his fury.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. I was in a soup commercial," Scourge replied with a deadpan expression, showing no fear at the cheetah's aggressive stance.

"Don't fuck with me!" The cheetah roared, baring his fangs just inches from Scourge's face. "You stole my car!"

"I dunno what you're talking about," Scourge sneered, his lips curling into a smug grin.

"Oh, really?" The cheetah chuckled without humor before slamming Scourge back against a wall. "I bet you'll figure it out while you bite the curb."

"At least take me to dinner first, babe," Scourge retorted with a playful wink, his eyes flickering with twisted amusement.

"Wait a minute, Danny," another voice cut in, drawing closer. One of the cheetah's cronies, who had been lurking nearby, stepped forward, peering at Scourge with a look of surprise. "This ain't your average carjacker... shit! This is Scourge, the old king!"

"Well, he ain't king anymore, right? His ass got thrown in jail, I heard," Danny laughed, tightening his grip on Scourge's jacket. "Must not be that powerful if he's hidin' in the shadows and nabbin' cars. Still, how much do you think they'd pay to get him back behind bars?"

"Penny, lock the door," another goon ordered the cashier, who obliged, pulling out a handgun from her back pocket and flicking the safety off with a sinister smile.

Before Scourge could come up with a snarky comeback, the unmistakable click of a phone camera went off somewhere beside him.

It was getting late. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:32 PM. They had to wrap this up quickly.

"Yeah, so, that won't do," he muttered before launching into action. With a sudden burst of speed, he delivered a rapid one-two punch to both sides of Danny's face, stunning him and loosening his grip. Seizing the moment, Scourge kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him crashing into a shelf stocked with candy. As Penny fired a shot, Scourge blurred out of the way with his supersonic speed, dodging the bullets effortlessly.

"Get my good side while you're at it," he quipped, appearing beside the person who had taken the photo. Snatching the phone from their grip, he took a quick selfie with a perky grin before slamming the phone down hard against a shelf; the screen shattering on impact. Before they could react, he swiftly snapped their neck, their body crumpling to the floor.

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the broken phone at Penny, striking her square in the forehead and causing her to drop the gun. Vulnerable and disoriented, she was left wide open for Scourge's next move. In a flash, he closed the distance and stomped down on her skull with a brutal force, her body going limp instantly.

"You fucking—" the last crony screamed in terror, but his cry was cut short as Scourge aimed the now-recovered handgun and fired. The back of the crony's skull burst open in a bloody display, brains splattering against the wall behind him.

"Yeah, that's sweet of you," Scourge said with a gleeful grin, lowering the smoking pistol. His gaze then turned to a dazed Danny. "C'mon, pookie. I saved the best for last."

"Muh... Nuh..." Danny mumbled weakly as Scourge grabbed him by the back of his jacket, kicked the door open, and forced him to press his mouth against the edge of the curb outside. Without a moment's hesitation, Scourge stomped down hard on the back of Danny's head, a sickening crunch echoing through the night as blood and teeth splattered across the concrete.

Scourge couldn't help but laugh. These jokers thought they could take on the hedgehog who once, and soon would again, rule over Moebius. The sheer arrogance of their challenge made the victory even sweeter.

He glanced at the clock again. 9:33 PM.

Lost in the rush of adrenaline, Scourge almost didn't notice Toxic sitting just a few feet away, perched atop a faded truck kiddie ride. Her jaw hung open beneath her mask, her wide eyes filled with a mix of awe and morbid fascination.

"I thought I told ya to stay in the car," Scourge said, slightly exasperated. He was surprised such a dumb kid had figured out how to unlock the door.

"I'm in this car," Toxic countered with a nonchalant shrug.

Scourge clenched his jaw, a sigh escaping his lips as he nodded in reluctant acceptance. His eyes caught sight of a coin near Danny's limp leg.

"Sit tight for a sec," he instructed, slipping the coin into the ride's slot. The kiddie ride sputtered to life, playing a grainy rock and roll tune and jerking with clunky engine sounds.

Stepping over the mess of bodies and debris, Scourge made sure to destroy anything that might have recorded the scene. Afterward, he grabbed a few packs of cigarettes, a beer, and some cash from the register. Before leaving, he noticed a stuffed cheetah toy on display, its big eyes and innocent smile staring back at him. The irony made him chuckle, and he decided to take it with him. Motioning for Toxic to follow, he led her back to the car.

"Why did they fight you?" Toxic asked, hopping alongside him, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"The cheetah guy got mad at me for stealing his car. He and his buddies were gonna get me thrown in jail, so l killed them all," he replied casually, opening the car door.

"Oh," she responded simply, satisfied with his blunt explanation as she climbed in on her side.

"Here," Scourge said, handing her the stuffed cheetah. "That's your reminder not to let anyone mess with you. If someone gives you trouble, show 'em who's boss."

Toxic's eyes widened as she stared at the soft toy in her hands. For a moment, she was speechless. She glanced up at her brother, a mix of surprise and something else-almost like admiration.

It wasn't every day Scourge showed such a gesture. Was it the adrenaline that had him feeling generous? Or perhaps some hidden guilt, knowing she'd soon be placed with another family? Maybe, just maybe, he was warming up to her.

He cranked up the radio to drown out his thoughts, not noticing the way she kept staring at him. Eventually, she broke the silence, her voice tentative. "Do we have the same mama and daddy?"

Scourge's stomach twisted into knots. He knew where this was headed.

"Yep," he replied tersely.

"But where are they at?" she asked, her voice growing softer, more childlike.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, Scourge's jaw clenched as he tried to find the right words.

"They're dead, Toxic," he finally said, his tone darkening.

Toxic's face fell, her body turning toward him, eyes locked on his. "But how could they, uhm, die?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The air felt sucked from Scourge's lungs. His mind raced for a lie, but nothing came to him. He was trapped in the truth. His palms were sweaty, his grip on the wheel unyielding as he forced himself to continue.

"Dad... h-he..." Scourge stammered, wiping the sweat from his brow, "he was a piece of shit, Toxic. We got in a fight, and he died."

Toxic tensed up, clutching the cheetah tightly in her small hands. "Did you, uhm, have a fight with our mama like you had a fight with daddy?" she asked, her voice small, nearly breaking.

"No!" Scourge barked instantly. "Mom was good! I'd never fight her!" He took a deep, steadying breath, staring out at the blur of passing cars. "Mom... she... took her own life," he added, his voice heavy with regret.

Furrowing her brows in a mix of sadness and disbelief, Toxic shook her head and asked, “but why?”

Scourge's mouth went dry. He'd asked himself that same question for years.

Why had she left him and Toxic behind with that monster? After that day, his life had spiraled down a twisted path he couldn't escape, molding him into the hardened criminal he was now.

Should he have done more to help her?

He felt an odd combination of resentment and guilt, hating himself for being angry at her choice. She had been his only real light for years, even in death.

He didn't know who to blame-his mother, himself, his father, an invisible illness, or even his sister, whose birth might have driven his mother over the edge with postpartum depression.

Years had passed, but deep down, he still felt like that lost, scared twelve-year-old kid he once knew.

"Scourge?" Toxic whimpered, reaching out for his arm, her voice quivering with a need for comfort.

"I don't want to talk about this shit anymore, Toxic!" Scourge snapped, his voice sharp and pained. "Just... shut the fuck up and listen to music or something!" he roared, slamming his fist against the steering wheel with a burst of frustration.

Hugging the stuffed cheetah closer, Toxic remained silent for the rest of the ride, the radio's music filling the tense, uneasy quiet between them.

Back at the orphanage, they were greeted by Flying, who was waiting with a lantern held high, his wide eyes glimmering with excitement.

"There you hedgie-wedgies are!" he exclaimed, dropping to Toxic's height with a playful grin. "Where have ya lid-squid-kids been!? Did you make a new little friend, Toxic little girl? Can I eat him?"

Uncharacteristically quiet, Toxic kept her gaze down, saying nothing as she grabbed a lantern and hurried off to the area where she usually slept.

"Say, what's the big idea?" Flying asked, scratching his head, bewildered by the sudden shift in her demeanor.

"She's tired, and I need a cigarette," Scourge replied coolly, turning on his heel to head back toward his car, only to be stopped by Flying once more.

"Yanno, you two are actin' fishier than a pond-wand-blonde!" Flying said, his head tilted, arms crossed as he studied Scourge from head to toe. "And I'm not talkin' about that pretty blood on your shoes!"

"I'll clean it in a bit, okay? Fuck off," Scourge grumbled, pushing past him and returning to the car's front seat. He lit a cigarette with almost frantic urgency, desperate for the calming burn in his lungs.

His mind raced, teeming with chaos and torment. Every so often, he'd lash out, slamming his fist against the dashboard or the seat beside him, shouting out a random obscenity. By the time he'd made it through nearly an entire pack, exhaustion finally washed over him, pulling him into sleep right there in the car.

The night before the Destructix would storm the castle was full of tension, but not just for them.

After spending the day resting and regaining her strength, McKenna stood in the castle's vast training arena, bracing herself for the tests that awaited. The room was expansive and intimidating, filled with workout equipment, targets, and combat robots designed for practice. Today, her training wasn't just about physical prowess; she was also testing her ability to see an attacker before they appeared, and her skill with different kinds of combative and defensive magic.

All stops had been pulled out tonight. She'd even been given a new outfit: a sleek, bulletproof bodysuit, her boots were designed to silence her footsteps, and her arms and legs were covered in a protective lycra-adjacent fabric. She was dressed in all black, allowing her to blend in with shadows. Strapped to her thigh was a dagger, her only non-magical weapon aside from her fists and feet.

Physically, she was prepared, but her mind was another matter entirely.

While resting earlier, she'd had a strange dream. She was back in the forest that haunted her memories, but someone had intruded and started a fire. The act sparked a fury in her unlike anything she'd ever felt. Who dared to harm her sanctuary? It was her territory, and no one was allowed to defile it. She wanted to hunt down the culprit, to make them pay violently for their audacity.

The raw, unfiltered rage was a new sensation, and it terrified her.

"My dear, you aren't still worried about your dream, are you?" Stellaria's voice broke through her thoughts, drawing her back to the present.

"Mother... I've never felt like this before," McKenna confessed, her face creased with concern. "I don't want to be a monster."

"Why, you are no monster," Stellaria soothed, her voice carrying a maternal calm. "I can tell you with certainty the dream does carry a message. But if you follow it, all will be well. Think of this castle as the forest, and the arsonist as someone who wishes to bring harm to those within. I've equipped you with the tools to protect us, and I know you won't fall short."

The tension in McKenna's face eased, a faint smile spreading across her lips.

"Thank you, Mother. I love you," she said, straightening her posture with renewed confidence.

"I love you too, my dear," Stellaria replied, her hand gently caressing McKenna's cheek as she leaned in close, her smile warm and reassuring. "Be ready."

From a separate room, Stellaria watched her daughter meditate for a moment before speaking into the microphone that fed into the arena's speakers.

"Now, begin."

35 notes · View notes

vendettaspathfanfic · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter Seven

(Chapter Index)

(Previous)

(Next)

Toxic was overcome with an exhilaration unlike anything she had ever experienced before. For the past few days, she and the rest of the Destructix had been meticulously organizing and strategizing for the upcoming bank robbery. Her brother had assured her that the heist would not only yield substantial rewards for the gang, but also bring them closer to their ultimate goal of claiming the castle as their own.

Furthermore, she had already tasted the thrill of danger when she found herself being pursued by the police, and had even taken the life of Boomer Walrus. Like Scourge, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline rush that came with living beyond the boundaries of the law, and it was a temptation she simply couldn't resist.

And now, the sun had long dipped below the polluted horizon and the bank had closed its doors to the public. Everyone except for Scourge and Fiona gathered in the dimly lit front lobby of their musty hideout, waiting as the latter was making some last-minute modifications to a newly acquired, illicitly-gained SUV that would be serving as their getaway vehicle.

"When do we go?" Toxic asked impatiently, the frustration transparent in her tone as she slouched her shoulders forward in an exaggerated, childlike display of boredom.

"As your brother mentioned," Predator responded brusquely, "we'll leave once Fiona finishes with the car."

"And where's Scourge?" Lightning interjected, displaying his impatience, albeit in a more composed manner compared to their youngest companion.

"He's checking on Miles," Predator replied, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face as he observed Lightning's restlessness. "The wait will be worth it."

Reluctantly, Lightning released a soft sigh and nodded, conceding with a muttered acknowledgment of "you're right," his gaze drifting downward and away from Predator.

"That's hardly a revelation," Predator remarked confidently, his arms folded across his chest as he stared ahead.

"Shut up," Lightning retorted with a growl, attempting to maintain a facade of annoyance even as his mouth twitched in a battle against a burgeoning grin.

"We'll be ready soon, Toxic little girl!" Flying exclaimed, bounding off the remnants of the front desk in the lobby where he had been perched. He landed with a solid thud in a crouched position before Toxic, meeting her at eye level. "And then we'll have a grand ole time-rhyme-mime!"

A proud smile spread across Toxic's face as she declared, "I'm gonna shoot someone again," placing her clenched fists on her hips.

"Well, they've got bots instead of guards, so you'll just be shooting them if necessary," Lightning chimed in, leaning casually against the wall as he recounted a detail from his earlier reconnaissance mission at the bank to assess the security system.

"Unless the cops show up-cup-pup!" Flying interjected, wagging his finger playfully while his grin widened at the prospect of taking the lives of law enforcement.

Toxic nibbled on her healing lower lip, revealing a gap-toothed grin. "I wanna shoot them too," she mused before approaching Simon, who carried their arsenal of weapons in an ammo belt slung across his torso. She looked up at him and gently tugged on his pant leg, prompting him to shift his gaze toward her.

"What is it?" Simon asked.

"Can I have my gun?" she asked, extending her arm towards his towering figure, her hand outstretched in anticipation.

"Not yet. I'll give it to you when it’s time," Simon replied, his gaze returning to the front as he patiently awaited the gang's leaders.

"Can I just practice more though?" Toxic persisted, maintaining her stance as she tried to negotiate for access to her designated pistol.

"Nope. We have to be conservative with ammo at the moment," Simon insisted, crossing his arms firmly as he kept his gaze fixed ahead.

"That's balls," Toxic grumbled, dropping her arm and crossing it tightly with the other.

"Okay," Simon acknowledged with a nonchalant hum, his shoulders giving a subtle twitch in a barely noticeable shrug.

Scourge soon made his entrance into the dimly lit lobby, his silhouette accentuated by the warm glow emanating from the lantern he carried. With a smirk and, he lowly chuckled “whining bitch,” as he placed the lantern on a weathered end table, joining the ensemble of lights that provided just enough illumination for the gang to make out each other's faces in the dark, dank setting.

"How's our guest, green boss?" queried Flying with a curious tilt of his head.

"He's been trapped in that room going on three days now, and trust me, we're far from rolling out the red carpet for him. He's faring just as you'd picture," Scourge growled with annoyance while he fidgeted with the jacket that seemed to hang loosely on his lithe form.

"I see-hee-hee!" Flying snickered with sinister glee, his hands coming together in anticipation as he imagined the undoubtedly run-down condition of their captive, Miles.

"Fiona's wrapping up her work. I'll go see how she's doing," declared Scourge, striding towards the shadowy alley nestled next to the orphanage. It was a secluded spot where they currently kept their vehicles out of sight. As he arrived, he noticed Fiona, intent on her task under the SUV's hood, her face hidden from view by its bulk.

"How's it going, Fi?" he called out, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of her, somehow still striking even with streaks of filth marking her from the day's labor.

"Just tying up the last few loose ends," she answered without looking up, her hands deftly making the final tweaks to the engine. With a satisfied nod, she packed away her tools and lowered the hood with a solid thud. "We should give it a test drive. Care to do the honors?"

"Yeah, I'm up for it," Scourge replied nonchalantly, his shoulders lifting in an easy shrug.

"Perfect. Just a quick ride down to the end of the street and back should do. I can tell you're all itching to go soon," she said, a touch of empathy in her voice as she prepared to gauge the readiness of their escape vehicle.

"Don't you know it," Scourge chuckled, the sound low and soft, as he accepted the keys she offered him and slid into the driver's seat. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and he took off for the brief trial run. The vehicle performed flawlessly, and with a satisfied nod, he returned to park it right in front of the building, stepping out to greet Fiona who walked up to him with a victorious air.

"Smooth as butter," she proclaimed, her arms lifted triumphantly.

"That’s my girl," Scourge praised, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into a close embrace, their bodies pressed together in a moment of affection.

"Well," Fiona began, her fingers delicately holding Scourge's chin, elevating his gaze to hers, "it looks like we're ready to roll."

With a broad smile, Scourge reveled not only in the thrill of the impending heist but also in the woman before him – Fiona, the undeniable queenpin of their outfit and, more significantly, his own heart. Drawn in by the moment, their lips met in a soft collision that momentarily swept away thoughts of their upcoming illicit endeavor.

The Destructix, however, did not forget about anything. The expectant gang emerged from the building,

Their intimate interlude was shattered by a piercing, high-pitched "HEY!" that sliced through the air, accompanied by the sharp clap of hands.

"I will break you, you little shi-" Scourge snarled, his moment with Fiona abruptly interrupted, glaring at his sister in disdain.

"Are we ready to get moving?" Toxic interrupted, her impatience evident in her crossed arms and the rhythmic tapping of her foot.

"Mhm," Fiona replied, rolling her eyes at Toxic's insolence. She then turned her attention to the task at hand, announcing, "Everybody, gear up," as she popped open the trunk and began to distribute the nondescript black hoodies and balaclavas to the group.

"How long is the drive again?" Lightning asked, pulling the hoodie over his head.

"We should make it in about thirty minutes," Fiona answered, as she too donned the garment. "Simon, do you have all the equipment ready?"

“Yes ma’am.” Simion replied with an obedient nod, carefully placing a large, loaded duffle bag into the trunk.

Fiona responded with an enthusiastic agreement, enthusiastically thrusting both of her thumbs skyward as she declared, “Cool. Everyone in.”

Upon her cue, her and the rest of the Destructix clambered into the spacious interior of the SUV, a sense of tense excitement hanging in the air. Fiona ignited the engine and embarked on their route towards the bank.

“Alright, one more time let’s hear the plan.” Scourge commanded with authority, his blue eyes scanning the motley crew of accomplices from the vehicle's passenger seat.

With precision, Lightning began to recite his role in the upcoming heist, “I disarm an external security camera by the vent which I’ll crawl through and search for the security room. Once there, I’ll take the flash drive Fiona got and plug it into the main computer. The virus within it will shut the system down completely.”

“Right, then what?” Scourge prodded, his voice laced with anticipation for the next steps.

“I’ll break open the door then guard the car.” Simon chimed in succinctly, underscoring his commitment to the task at hand.

“Can Simon come with us?” Toxic interjected, her eyes wide and hopeful as she cast a beseeching look in Simon’s direction.

“Shut up,” Scourge spat out sharply, his patience wearing thin with his sister’s shenanigans.

“But I-“ Toxic began to protest, her lips parting in objection, only to be met with crossed arms and a resolved stance.

“The answer’s no,” Simon articulated firmly, as the little blue hedgehog sitting beside him grumbled under her breath, her arms folding defiantly while her expression soured by the sting of rejection.

“Go on,” Fiona encouraged, her tone now edged with impatience.

“I run in and find the vault,” Scourge succinctly stated his part of the plan, his confidence unwavering.

“Right,” Fiona acknowledged, her hands deftly maneuvering the steering wheel as she executed a sharp turn.

“We go where Scourge tells us the vault is and start loading the bags.” Predator elaborated, nodding toward the trunk where a stack of empty duffel bags awaited their bounty.

“Then after we’re rich-stitch-bitch, we haul the fuck out before the piggly-wigglies come after us!” Flying exclaimed with his typical raucous enthusiasm, his fist punching the air triumphantly.

“Damn right boys,” Fiona concurred, her lips curling into a predatory smirk of anticipation. The vehicle accelerated, leaving behind the city limits sign that marked their departure from Moebotropilis, as they steered closer to their plunder.

“My mouth hurts…” Toxic complained with a pained expression, her fingers unconsciously gravitating towards the scab forming on her healing lip.

“Then why are you picking at it?” Predator grumbled with a touch of exasperation, shooting a disapproving glance at Toxic.

“Stop picking at it, Toxic. It won't heal if you do,” Fiona scolded firmly, her gaze piercing through the rearview mirror to meet Toxic's eyes.

“I’m not picking at it…” Toxic protested weakly, her fingers betraying her as they continued their ministrations.

“I see you doing it. Knock it off,” Fiona admonished, her voice carrying a note of frustration as she shifted her focus momentarily to berate a sluggish driver ahead, “move it, dumbass!”

“Put your mask on, Toxic,” Simon interjected, hoping this would redirect Toxic's attention away from her lip.

“Okay,” Toxic responded eagerly, a spark of excitement evident in her eyes as she grasped the small balaclava and attempted to pull it over her head. However, her initial enthusiasm was met with a minor setback as she struggled to align the mask correctly, inadvertently covering her eyes instead of the intended eye holes.

“Hang on,” Simon sighed heavily, reaching over to adjust the mask to its proper position on Toxic's head.

“Does it look cool?” Toxic inquired with anticipation, her wide eyes shining with a mix of innocence and eagerness as her tail wagged in anticipation.

“Sure,” Simon replied casually, offering a nonchalant shrug in response to her query.

“Good,” Toxic chimed in happily, a giggle bubbling forth as she embraced the thrill of her first heist.

As the journey progressed with an intermittent backdrop of silence occasionally punctuated by Toxic annoying Simon with various random questions, Lightning seized the opportunity to engage in a moment of meditation. The impending task ahead demanded unwavering focus and precision, necessitating a mental and physical clarity unencumbered by distractions. With a deliberate motion, he gently closed his eyes, honed in on the rhythm of his breath, and methodically purged his mind of extraneous thoughts.

Unbeknownst to Lightning, Predator's gaze had shifted towards him, silently studying his tranquil countenance with a mix of admiration and respect. The aura of serenity enveloping Lightning belied the intense focus he maintained, his unmoving form resembling that of a poised statue, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled with measured calmness.

In this moment of profound tranquility and disciplined resolve, Predator found a poignant reminder of Lightning's indispensable role within the ranks of the Destructix. The brief period during which Lightning had temporarily departed to rejoin the Raiju Clan had underscored not only the loss of a formidable ally in combat but also the absence of a cherished friend whose presence was deeply ingrained in the fabric of their collective identity.

"Thank god he came back…" Predator mused inwardly, the sentiment reverberating within him so profoundly that he resisted the urge to vocalize it.

To Predator, the Destructix remained incomplete in Lightning's absence, a sentiment that echoed the void within his own being that yearned to be filled by the camaraderie and companionship they had shared. Lightning was more than a comrade; he was Predator's first true friend, a bond that transcended the confines of their criminal endeavors and resonated on a personal level.

Abruptly jolted back to reality, Predator's reverie was shattered by Flying's boisterous intervention, as he seized Lightning's shoulder and vigorously shook him while emitting an incomprehensible stream of excited chatter, disrupting the moment with a frenetic energy that clashed with the prevailing stillness.

"Fuck, Flying!" Lightning hissed through gritted teeth, his body taut with barely restrained fury as he glared at him.

Flying, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the tension, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eyes. He let out a playful giggle, the sound almost musical in its lightness. "We’re here, kitty kitty!" he taunted, his voice lilting as he turned his attention towards Predator with a sly grin. With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, he mockingly inquired, "Could you tell we were here, tweety bird? You seemed a lil distracted!"

The color rose rapidly to Predator's cheeks, a deep blush betraying his embarrassment. He was caught with his eyes stuck on Lightning. It was an unusual lapse for him, one that seemed all the more peculiar because he hadn't intended to stare; his mind had simply wandered down a labyrinth of thought.

"Yes I could…” Predator murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to recover his composure. He hastily cleared his throat, finding himself momentarily unable to meet the eyes of his companions. An old nervous habit was resurfacing, one he had diligently worked to quell, and he silently chastised himself for allowing it to creep back in.

Scourge cut through the banter with a voice that brooked no argument. “Everyone put the masks on,” he directed, his tone firm and authoritative. There was no hesitation as the team promptly complied, each member pulling on their balaclavas to conceal their identities in the dark fabric.

Fiona, maneuvered the vehicle into a narrow alleyway several structures away from the bank. The engine hummed to a subdued halt. Turning in her seat, she fixed Lightning with a look that was both stern and encouraging. “You’re on, my man,” she said, giving him an affirming nod.

Responding with a terse nod of his own, Lightning's fingers found the button that activated the car's overhead window, pressing it to open up his pathway. He unclasped his seatbelt with a click and fluidly climbed through the opening. Standing atop the vehicle, he surveyed his surroundings before making his move. With the finesse of a true ninja, he leaped onto a nearby fire escape, his movements swift and silent as he ascended the metal stairs to gain access to the rooftops.

Once he reached the appropriate vantage point, he paced back, calculating distance, then burst into a sprint that carried him toward the edge of the rooftop. With a powerful leap, he bridged the gap to the neighboring building, repeating this athletic feat from one structure to the next in a breathtaking display of parkour until he arrived at the bank's roof.

There, Lightning prowled across the rooftop like a shadow until he reached his target that he had noted when he surveyed the bank earlier: the security camera with a clear view of the vent he needed to infiltrate. With a deftness that spoke of years of practice, he reached out and with a swift twist of his wrist, he dislodged the camera from its perch, letting it clatter to his feet where he proceeded to crush it beneath his boot, extinguishing its ability.

With the camera disabled, Lightning yet again transformed into an embodiment of stealth and precision. He inched over the ledge, his body angled in an almost impossible inversion as he maintained his balance with the expertise of a master climber. Upon unzipping a pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a small screwdriver, its metal glinting faintly in the dim light as he set about removing the bolts securing the vent. One by one, the screws fell away, the metal grate clattering to the ground below. Lightning's movements were a choreographed dance of finesse and strength, as he contorted his body to slip into the vent's maw.

Inside, he weaved through the ducts with a patience born of necessity, seeking the nerve center of their target. After a meticulous journey, he discovered a room bristling with technology — computers, monitors, and servers — the perfect jackpot.

But caution was paramount; security cameras lurked like vigilant sentinels. Tuning into the environment, Lightning detected the faint hum of machinery from a camera nearby, likely positioned to monitor the vent. With a swift and calculated motion, he positioned his feet against the grate and unleashed a powerful kick. The grate sailed away as Lightning burst from the vent, his feet colliding with the camera in a precise strike, its recording light flickering out as he landed deftly on the ground.

Drawing from his extensive experience in past criminal exploits, Lightning navigated the familiar terrain of the room with confident precision. Approaching the mainframe computer, he deftly inserted the flash drive containing the virus, a potent tool acquired by Fiona from a black market, into the USB port. As the malicious code took root within the system, the room's atmosphere crackled with digital tension.

Observing the monitors flicker and glitch in response to the virus's intrusion, Lightning's ears flattened at the jarring cacophony of alarms distorted by the cyber assault. Without missing a beat, he reached for his phone and dialed Scourge.

“Howzit lookin’?” Scourge's voice cut through the chaos, his tone a blend of anticipation and authority, as he answered the call after a single ring.

“It’s working. Any second now...” Lightning's response was measured and focused, his gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos as the virus's effects intensified, causing the servers and monitors to succumb to the digital onslaught. With a self-assured smirk, he announced, “You’re up, boss.”

“See you in a minute,” Scourge's voice resonated with unwavering confidence as he terminated the call, stepping out of the car to retrieve an empty duffel bag from the trunk, preparing for the next phase of their operation.

Exiting the vehicle in tandem, Simon approached Scourge.

"In case the vault hasn't been unlocked, you’ll need some sticky bombs," Simon remarked, retrieving a small duffel bag containing the explosive devices and passing it to him with careful deliberation.

“Right on, man,” Scourge acknowledged with a faint grin, shouldering the bag of volatile tools in readiness for their utilization.

“You know how to use ‘em?”

“Yeah, gotta run,” Scourge responded with a playful salute, his focus shifting to the imminent task at hand. With his signature speed, he hastened towards the bank's entrance, the weight of their mission propelling him forward like a bullet. With a swift motion, he forced open the door, splintering the lock in the process, and plunged into the dimly lit interior, embarking on a determined search for the location of the vault, where their ultimate prize awaited.

Thanks to the combination of his remarkable speed and the lack of security measures in the bank, combing the grounds of the bank wasn’t nearly as difficult or time consuming as it would be under normal circumstances for the average person. In less than a minute, he stumbled upon a stairwell hiding behind an unmarked door in the heart of the bank. Leaping over the rail, he fell to the bottom and landed firmly on his feet, he found a long hallway that led to his destination.

Upon reaching the formidable entrance of the bank's vault, he found himself wrestling with the knob. His efforts proved fruitless as the door stood steadfast, mocking his attempt with its immobility. Unperturbed, he meticulously positioned a pair of sticky bombs on the surface of the massive steel barrier and hastily retreated to the stairwell's summit. From the duffel bag, he fished out the detonator, and despite the seriousness of the heist, a mischievous grin broke across his face, impossible to suppress.

He couldn't help but muse over the irony; the bank had undoubtedly poured an immense amount of time and fortune into their elaborate security measures, yet here they were, his band of rebels, dismantling the intricate system with such ease in hardly any time at all. It was almost pitiful, he thought. Actually, it was downright ludicrous. His laughter spilled forth, a wild symphony of triumph and mockery, echoing throughout, an audible testament that the world was, indeed, at his whim.

"Godspeed, Moebius!" Scourge's voice thundered amidst his cachinnation, the words charged with exhilaration as he pressed the detonator's button, instinctively covering his ears in anticipation of the blast. The resulting roar of the explosion reverberated up and down the stairwell, and he waited patiently as the tumultuous sounds gradually diminished into silence.

Once the echoes faded, Scourge confidently extracted his phone, the screen glowing to life as he connected with Lightning. The phone barely had time to ring before the lynx’s voice came through, crisp and alert. Scourge's instructions were brief and to the point, guiding his accomplice towards the now-breeched vault. With the call ended, he surged back outside to where the rest of the Destructix were already in motion, their figures spilling out of the SUV. They rummaged through the trunk, efficiently drawing out several empty duffel bags, their interiors hungry for the spoils of their venture.

Amidst the organized chaos, Simon distributed guns amongst the crew then took a moment to address Toxic. He crouched down, reducing the distance between them, and offered her the compact firearm that had been selected with her in mind. His voice was gentle yet firm, "Remember what to do with this?" he inquired, handing the weapon to her.

Toxic's response was tentative, her voice betraying the effort she was making to recall his earlier instructions, "Don’t uhm… point it at anyone I’m not gonna shoot and only shoot who they tell me to shoot?" She locked eyes with him, seeking affirmation.

"That’s right. And don’t go anywhere they don’t tell you to go," Simon replied, his nod conveying his approval. He watched as a spark of eager anticipation danced in Toxic's eyes, her small frame barely containing the thrill of their illicit escapade.

"I won’t," she promised earnestly, her excitement manifesting in a series of small, jubilant jumps.

"Good," Simon responded, the shadow of a smile threatening to break through his stoic demeanor. He then lifted his gaze, addressing the collective as he imparted his final piece of guidance, "I’ll call you guys if I hear sirens."

"Right on, Simon," Fiona chimed in, her thumb raised in solidarity.

Without further ado, Scourge issued the command to advance, "This way!" His stride was deliberate, a perfect balance of speed and caution as he led his crew back into the bank's interior, descending towards the vault where Lightning awaited their arrival, ready to lay claim to their prize.

The Destructix charged into the vault with an exhilaration akin to children rushing towards an ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

“Dig in, guys!” Scourge's voice reverberated through the enclosed space, brimming with ebullience, as he flung a duffel bag towards Lightning before eagerly stuffing his own with stacks of pristine hundred Moebium bills.

Fiona joined in the revelry, her whoops of joy punctuating the air as she deftly packed her duffel bag with a precision that bordered on artistry, ensuring every available inch was crammed with the coveted currency.

“Make sure you get these ones, kid,” Predator's voice cut through the commotion, guiding Toxic towards the higher denomination Moebium bills that she dutifully stashed away in her backpack.

In a synchronized rhythm, they continued their plunder, the vault echoing with the rustle of cash and the palpable thrill of anticipation. With each bill added to their bags, their imaginations sparked with visions of the luxuries and enhancements that awaited them. From fine dining to Scourge modifying his newly stolen sports car, and even the prospect of additional cybernetic upgrades for the whole gang beyond Lightning's imminent enhancements for the upcoming siege, the possibilities seemed endless in the glow of their success.

However, amidst the euphoria of their heist, Predator's keen gaze caught a subtle shift in Lightning's demeanor. The seasoned ninja’s ears pivoted, attuned to a sound only he could detect, his expression etched with a steely focus that signaled potential danger lurking in the shadows.

“What is it?” Predator inquired, recognizing the telltale intensity in Lightning's countenance, pausing in his cash-stuffing endeavor, the bills frozen in his grasp.

“That hum…” Lightning's voice was low, his ears swiveling as he zeroed in on a distinct electrical vibration growing in intensity behind him. Without hesitation, he turned his head towards the source, his eyes locking onto a menacing turret descending ominously from the vault's ceiling.

“Hit the deck!” Lightning’s urgent command pierced the chaos, a stark warning that sent everyone scrambling to the floor. In a swift motion, Flying vaulted over, landing protectively atop a bewildered Toxic, shielding her from the lethal hail of bullets that erupted across the room, the deadly projectiles grazing perilously close but missing their marks by mere inches.

Scourge's gaze locked onto the menacing turret, its malevolent intent clear in its automated movements. As the turret momentarily shifted its focus away from him, seizing the opportune moment, he sprang into action, leaping to his feet with a fluid grace honed through countless escapades. With a primal war cry, he executed his signature homing attack, hurtling towards the turret with unbridled fury, his strike shattering the mechanical menace into a cascade of twisted metal. Standing amidst the wreckage, he clenched his fist in frustration, bellowing, “The system’s coming back on! I thought we toasted it!?”

“It was supposed to take down the backup files! Fucker at the black market screwed us over!” Fiona's voice rang out, a potent cocktail of disbelief and fury coursing through her veins, her mind racing to process the unexpected betrayal.

“We have to go! Now!” Predator's voice cut through the tension, his tone decisive as he swiftly rose to his feet, sealing his bulging bag with practiced efficiency. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder that their daring heist had veered perilously off course, leaving them with no choice but to retreat before the full might of the bank's defenses descended upon them.

As they fled from the compromised vault, their footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor, the weight of the stolen cash dragging at their arms, a sudden swarm of sleek white armed drones swooped towards them, their menacing presence casting a shadow over the fleeing band of outlaws.

“Feed ‘em lead, guys!” Scourge's command sliced through the tension, igniting a flurry of gunfire as his comrades unleashed a torrent of bullets upon the armored mechanical adversaries.

“Ain’t this fun-run-gun, little girl!?” Flying's exuberant voice boomed above the cacophony, his shots finding their mark with precision, shattering a drone's camera and halting its aggressive advance. Seizing the opportunity, he lifted the lower half of his mask, stretched out his signature elastic tongue, and ensnared the disabled drone before flinging it unceremoniously to the ground, inflicting heavy damage upon its mechanical form.

“Ew, you licked it!” Toxic's voice rang out in a mixture of disgust and amusement, her own shot landing the final blow on the incapacitated machine.

“And it tasted goooood!” Flying's laughter reverberated through the corridor, a wild blend of adrenaline-fueled exhilaration and irreverent humor in the face of danger.

“Keep your mask down, man!” Fiona’s urgent demand pierced through the deafening symphony of gunfire.

Scourge, ever the showboat, decided that the use of a gun was a waste of time as he flung the bulging duffel bag he carried skyward. With a grace that belied the chaos surrounding him, he blurred into motion, moving in the blink of an eye. In a breathtaking display of agility and finesse, he leapt into action, executing a powerful kick that sent one of the drones hurtling towards its two remaining companions. They collided in a spectacular chain reaction, crashing into each other with a resounding clatter before careening into the unforgiving walls like a cascade of metallic dominos.

Proud of the chaos he had unleashed, Scourge continued his lightning-fast maneuvers, a blur of motion as he seamlessly returned to his starting point, snatching the falling duffel bag from the air with unerring precision before it could touch the ground.

With a smug smirk stretching unseen beneath his mask, he maintained a brisk but steady pace, allowing the others to easily follow him. His voice rang out, laced with a taunting edge as he beckoned his crew with a playful shout, "haul ass, slowpokes! Eyes up!"

Fiona's heartbeat quickened in tandem with the rhythm of their ascent up the stairwell when she felt the unmistakable vibration of her cell phone against her thigh. It was as if she had a sixth sense; she knew it was Simon on the other end before she even drew the device from her pocket. With a swift swipe, she accepted the call, and Simon's voice came through, confirming her premonitions.

The police were en route and getting closer by the second.

"No shit," Fiona bellowed back into the receiver, her voice almost lost amidst the cacophony of the bank's alarm system. Her eyes darted around, vigilant for any additional hazards. "The virus didn't fully take the system down like we thought! Guy who sold me the drive fucked us over and now we’re dealing with turrets and drones!”

There was a moment's pause before Simon's voice returned, now laced with frustration. His grip tightened on his phone, his strength inadvertently causing the screen to crack slightly, "Damn…" he muttered, the sound of his frustration palpable, "I’m out front ready to drive when you get out."

"See you in a mi—" Fiona's response was cut short as a sudden, explosive noise caused her to miss a step. Another ceiling turret had been obliterated by Scourge, its remnants clattering down the stairs.

Toxic, caught off guard by the chaos, let out a startled yelp. Her footing lost, she teetered dangerously backward until Fiona's reflexes kicked in. With a firm grip, Fiona caught her by the shirt, halting her fall.

"Watch your damn step!" Fiona admonished with an air of irritation. She then sighed, resigning herself to a solution, "Or, ugh, climb on back, we can’t have you slow us down!" Bending down, she allowed Toxic to clamber onto her back, securing a tight hold.

Simon's voice crackled with urgency through the phone, "What happened? Are you guys ok?"

"Relatively speakin’, yeah!" Fiona shouted back, her tone a cocktail of adrenaline and urgency, "Look, can't talk—there's a lot of shit going on!" With that, she ended the call abruptly, the severity of their predicament justifying the sudden interruption.

The remaining distance through the bank was a blur of gunfire and mechanical wreckage as they dispatched swarm after swarm of drones and turrets. Finally, the Destructix burst through the front doors, spilling out into the moonlight. They sprinted towards their getaway vehicle, tossing the duffel bags laden with cash into the trunk before tumbling into the SUV.

"Everyone in?" Simon's voice carried a mix of composure and haste, the wail of sirens now ominously close.

"FUCKING DRIVE, SIMON!" Scourge's voice erupted, his fist pounding against the dash with a force that echoed his impatience.

Simon needed no further urging. His foot slammed down on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, tires screeching as they tore away from the scene of their crime.

Exhilaration pulsed through Toxic as she threw her fists into the air, her voice ringing with triumph, "we did it!"

Fiona, ever the realist, tempered the celebration with a cautious glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened and a string of curses spilled out as she spotted the relentless pursuit of law enforcement, "almost," she snapped back, noting the sea of flashing lights gaining on them.

"Piggly wigglies have come out to play!" Flying declared with a manic gleam in his eyes, thirsting for the violent confrontation.

Without missing a beat, Fiona barked at Scourge, "Get that scanner on—now!" Scourge, understanding the urgency and following Fiona’s instructions, immediately flipped the switch and dialed up the volume. The scanner crackled to life, and the gang leaned in as they focused on the dispatcher's voice detailing their vehicle's description and last known heading.

The unmistakable blare of the police's ultimatum boomed through their own intercom, "NCPD! Pull over or we will open fire!"

Scourge couldn't suppress a sardonic chuckle, muttering under his breath, "Is that any way to talk to the king and his men?" He then turned to the rest of the gang, his grin sharp and wild, "Get your iron ready, guys!"

Flying didn't need to be told twice. With agile movements, he vaulted over the seats, landing with a thud in the trunk. He rummaged quickly, resurfacing with a cache of assault rifles. He passed the weapons to Lightning, Predator, Fiona, and Scourge with an efficiency born of experience.

With determination, Scourge positioned himself at the window, the cool metal of the rifle in his grasp. He braced, took aim, and as the car swerved to avoid incoming fire, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal filled the air as Fiona and the others followed, unleashing a hailstorm of gunfire towards the police vehicles that were in hot pursuit.

“I wanna shoot too!” Toxic’s voice rang out with a mix of eagerness and frustration as she watched the ongoing chaos from the sidelines.

“You’re gonna love this, kiddo!” Flying couldn’t contain his exhilaration, his voice booming over the cacophony of gunfire and sirens, shaking with wild laughter. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted the lower half of his mask to reveal a wide, mischievous grin. With precision, his extendable tongue shot out, securely latching onto Toxic and pulling her to his side. Ensuring her safety, he held her steady as she leaned out of the speeding car window, her own weapon in hand. Together, they fired relentlessly at the pursuing police cars. By a stroke of luck, or perhaps skill, one of Toxic’s bullets found its mark, shattering a windshield and striking the driver. The ensuing chaos was immediate - the police cars swerved, collided, and ultimately crashed into a spectacular pile-up.

“Attagirl!” Flying’s praise was enthusiastic, though somewhat muffled as his tongue still maintained a protective grip on Toxic, ensuring she remained safe within the confines of their escape vehicle.

“Shh!” The urgency in Fiona’s hiss cut through the adrenaline-fueled air. Her focus was entirely on the scanner on the radio, the static-filled voice emanating from it capturing her full attention. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Predator’s voice was tinged with curiosity as he ducked inside the vehicle, his head tilting in an attempt to discern the message being transmitted.

“We’re completely blocked in,” Lightning’s tone was matter-of-fact, echoing Predator’s movements by also leaning into the interior of the car.

“We can’t carry all this stuff on foot... What’s the plan, bosses?” Simon’s queried, maneuvering the wheel, eyes scanning the road with steely focus.

The tension spiked as the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air reached their ears, followed by the invasive glare of a spotlight suddenly trained on them.

“Hmm…” Predator’s hum was pensive, the gears turning in his mind as a sly smirk began to play at the corners of his mouth, “a helicopter crashing into a police blockade could be very… distracting.”

“Sounds like there’s a blockade straight ahead in about a quarter mile,” Simon interjected, offering critical intel while his gaze never wavered from the road ahead.

Flying’s energy seemed to surge at the revelation, and with a swift, graceful movement, he released his grip on Toxic. He gently placed her in the safety of the seat next to him as he adjusted his mask back into place, concealing his features once again.

“Sounds like a party-arty-farty! Could I pretty please come?” His voice was laced with a playful wheedle as he clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes in exaggerated anticipation.

"Fine," Predator conceded, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he prepared for the daring maneuver ahead. Without hesitation, he propelled himself out of the window, soaring around the car in a swift loop. The frog's outstretched hands snatched his ankles in a seamless motion, propelling him like a speeding bullet towards the helicopter.

"Alright!" Predator's voice boomed over the roar of the wind, his instructions clear and decisive. "I'll take the right side, you'll take the left. Glide in on my word!"

With precision honed from countless escapades, Predator zeroed in on the left side of the helicopter. As the moment aligned perfectly, he bellowed, "NOW!" The signal unleashed a synchronized assault as Flying swooped into the helicopter, swiftly incapacitating one pilot, while Predator swiftly dealt with the other.

The limp bodies of the pilots were unceremoniously tossed from the aircraft as Predator assumed command, his gaze fixed on the impending blockade and the oncoming SUV. "Jump out now!" his command cut through the chaos, urgency tinged in his voice. As the helicopter dove towards the obstruction, Flying wasted no time, gliding out to safety just in time. Predator followed suit, propelling himself upward like a bullet, his gaze locked on the impending collision below. From his aerial vantage point, he watched as the helicopter collided with the police cars, the explosion engulfing them in a ball of fire and chaos.

Below, the police were thrown into disarray, their attention captivated by the explosion which created a gap in their formation as vehicles were tossed aside. Seizing the moment, everyone in the SUV ducked down, and Simon floored the accelerator, steering the vehicle through the flames. They slipped into the shadows, vanishing from the distracted gaze of law enforcement.

Predator and Flying, now airborne, kept a vigilant watch over the van's trajectory as it wove its way through the ensuing pandemonium below. Like specters in the night, they shot through the air, their bodies silhouetted against the backdrop of flames and smoke, as they made their descent towards the now distant vehicle.

The two remained vigilant from their aerial perspective, their keen eyes tracking the van's trajectory as it weaved through the chaos. With the grace of seasoned acrobats, they soared through the smoke-filled sky, their bodies silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, preparing to rejoin their team. With a synchronized thud, they landed on the roof of the car and maneuvered themselves, finding ingress through an open window to rejoin their comrades within the confines of the vehicle.

With their hearts pounding in anxious anticipation, the team held their breath as the scanner's confirmation echoed in the tense air, revealing that the suspects had slipped away, vanishing into the chaos that surrounded them. Despite the seemingly daunting odds stacked against them, the Destructix had emerged victorious yet again.

(Hey yall sorry this took so damn long life became crazy for a min but thank u so much for waiting! Also there was gonna be more to this chapter but it would have been absurdly long but on the upside chapter 8 is already in the works! Next chapter has a lil….surprise 🫶🤍🩵)

24 notes · View notes